It's interesting when you pray and ask God a specific request, and He answers you immediately, in exact response to your heart's desperate plea. On my knee's the other morning, I had asked God that I might be brave enough to continue to draw near to Him, to dare to let the shadows of His glory land upon my mortal frame, to find protection in His sovereignty, rather than run from the very presence of His holiness and majesty. Sometimes, though, Truth is too much and we seek our solace in lesser things than the Creator of the Universe. When we become dissatisfied, we return to Him. I don't want to seek the lesser things. In the depths of my soul I want God to be first; I want my eyes on the cross and Jesus and eternity; I want the fulfillment found only in God. But I stray; so easily I stray. As I rose from this humble position, I walked past the book shelf on my way to start the day and paused long enough to catch the title of a book that has sat there for years, probably bought for a dime at some long-forgotten garage sale for "such a time as this." The title: Daring to Draw Near, by John White.
I cry out along with Hannah: If you give me a son, Lord, I will commit him back to you. I have the peace like Hannah: God's plan for my son's life is perfect. I trust this God, and His plans.
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It dawned on me this afternoon, as I was sitting on the swing in the flower garden, actually feeling joy and peace, that there is no reason to feel guilty over enjoying things here because, as my grief riddled brain came to process is, Trent is enjoying heaven there without me. God's grace is enough to enjoy what He gives here, somehow even enough to enjoy it without a son. And, as Rob and I were talking last night, it's not that he's lost; we know where he is, we just have to wait until it's our turn to get there.
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